Cowperwood seized the door-knob vigorously and, finding the door locked, shook, rattled, and banged at it.
“Aileen!” he called, sharply. “Aileen! What’s the matter in there?
Open this door, Aileen!” “Oh, my God!
Oh, help! help!
Oh, mercy—o-o-o-o-oh!”
It was the moaning voice of Rita.
“I’ll show you, you she-devil!” he heard Aileen calling.
“I’ll teach you, you beast!
You cat, you prostitute!
There! there! there!”
“Aileen!” he called, hoarsely.
“Aileen!”
Then, getting no response, and the screams continuing, he turned angrily.
“Stand back!” he exclaimed to Sohlberg, who was moaning helplessly.
“Get me a chair, get me a table—anything.”
The butler ran to obey, but before he could return Cowperwood had found an implement.
“Here!” he said, seizing a long, thin, heavily carved and heavily wrought oak chair which stood at the head of the stairs on the landing. He whirled it vigorously over his head.
Smash!
The sound rose louder than the screams inside.
Smash!
The chair creaked and almost broke, but the door did not give.
Smash!
The chair broke and the door flew open.
He had knocked the lock loose and had leaped in to where Aileen, kneeling over Rita on the floor, was choking and beating her into insensibility.
Like an animal he was upon her.
“Aileen,” he shouted, fiercely, in a hoarse, ugly, guttural voice, “you fool! You idiot—let go!
What the devil’s the matter with you?
What are you trying to do?
Have you lost your mind?—you crazy idiot!”
He seized her strong hands and ripped them apart. He fairly dragged her back, half twisting and half throwing her over his knee, loosing her clutching hold. She was so insanely furious that she still struggled and cried, saying:
“Let me at her!
Let me at her!
I’ll teach her!
Don’t you try to hold me, you dog!
I’ll show you, too, you brute—oh—”
“Pick up that woman,” called Cowperwood, firmly, to Sohlberg and the butler, who had entered.
“Get her out of here quick!
My wife has gone crazy.
Get her out of here, I tell you!
This woman doesn’t know what she’s doing.
Take her out and get a doctor.
What sort of a hell’s melee is this, anyway?”
“Oh,” moaned Rita, who was torn and fainting, almost unconscious from sheer terror.
“I’ll kill her!” screamed Aileen.
“I’ll murder her!
I’ll murder you too, you dog!
Oh”—she began striking at him—“I’ll teach you how to run around with other women, you dog, you brute!”
Cowperwood merely gripped her hands and shook her vigorously, forcefully.
“What the devil has got into you, anyway, you fool?” he said to her, bitterly, as they carried Rita out.
“What are you trying to do, anyway—murder her?